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It’s not like Tommy went out much. What was there to do in Vegas besides gamble? It was something he was trying to avoid, seeing as he had no money to spend on gambling and credit wasn’t something that was accepted in casinos. He had even gotten sick of picking up women. It just felt empty at this point. Tommy had no buddies to talk to, other than Joey who would call him every once in a while. That experience didn’t really match up with talking to someone in person.
”Not like my friends will talk to me,” Tommy mumbled to himself as he picked up his newspapers he had gotten from his mailbox in his apartment in Vegas. It was small, he was alone he didn’t need much space.
It was true, he wasn’t sure if he was ever friends with Bobby. Tommy had treated him pretty poorly for years. He wasn’t even sure how to get in touch Nick and after his rant about he hated living with him, he wasn’t all the eager to get back in touch with him.
Then of course there was Frankie. Tommy felt a knot in the pit of his stomach form when he thought about how he treated Frankie. He really dropped the ball there. He hit on his best friend’s girl, something a sober Tommy would have thought twice about. Tommy remembered to listening to Frankie talk to him at Gyp’s, and it hitting him, he couldn’t remember when he told Frankie how good he was. Not with any sort of backhanded remark, just a forward, “You did great.” Tommy couldn’t remember and got mad and took his rage out on the closest person, which was Frankie.
Tommy was taken away from his self-deprecating thoughts when the phone rang. He pulled his head out of the fridge walking over to his phone.
”Probably someone asking for cash I don’t have, again.” He muttered before answering, “Yeah, who is it?” He didn’t even try to hide how bad his mood was.
”Tommy, It is Joey.”
Tommy softened a bit when he heard that, but not by much, “Oh hey Pesci, how are things going?”
Joey sounded different, like he was nervous for some reason. “Oh ya know, l-listen Tommy, you get the paper from back home still don’t ya?”
Tommy glanced over to his unread papers, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This was the weirdest way Joey had started out a conversation ever. “Yeah, I do? What of it?”
Joey took in a short breath of air before he kept speaking, “I just…I wanted to warn ya. There are some things in today’s paper and ya ain’t gonna like.”
Tommy let out a sharp laugh, “Yeah, ya sound so sure of yourself there Joey. What makes ya think I ain’t gonna like it, huh?”
Joey paused, “Ya just ain’t. Trust me. Listen I can’t really talk right now. I will call you tomorrow. Bye.”
And with that Joey had hung up the phone. Tommy stared at it, tilting his head in confusion. “What the fuck was that about?” Tommy rolled his eyes finally hanging up the phone that he had been staring at for a good minute. He glanced over at the papers and sighed.
Tommy pondered for another minute as he walked over to pick up his Jersey paper, “Should I really read this?” He sighed, sitting down in a chair, not even bothering to pour himself a drink of any kind, he was more curious than thirsty at the moment.
There was nothing on the front page, nothing of real note anyhow. The real shock came about four pages in a small column on the side. “Francine Valli, daughter of famous singer Frankie Valli, dies at age-“,
Tommy froze; did he really just read that? He looked back at the column reading through the whole thing this time. When he was done he felt angry. He tried to read it again, but was too mad. He had crumbled the paper, tearing in many pieces. His breathing was heavy, he couldn’t remember standing, and yet here he was standing over his chair that he had broken out of pure rage. Tommy pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, but it took him a few tries before he could light it. He inhaled on it, but it did no good. It didn’t help his rage cool. He was pacing around his apartment, thinking.
”How the fuck could this shit have happened?” It was the question that he kept asking himself, even though it was kind of pointless to wonder. He already knew the answer. It was a reason quite a few people in the neighborhood didn’t live very long. It wasn’t for his own Nona he might have gone down that road. He was lucky.
Francine, Tommy knew no mater how much shit Frankie and Mary gave each other, Tommy was positive that they loved their kids. No matter what was going on with Mary’s drinking problems or Frankie’s personal life, he knew they love those girls. It used to bother Tommy, how much Frankie would talk about his kids. He knew after his blow up why, it was because he never asked.
This whole thing seemed very unfair to Frankie and Mary, a few months ago his stepdaughter Celia had died. Well maybe half a year ago, but with death it always felt fresh for a long time, especially if you loved that person. Now this was different. Celia’s death was…an accident; Francine’s death though that reeked of a drug over dose, and Tommy had to wonder why.
It all just seemed incredibly unfair. Tommy only had one adult figure in his life and he made it through, well not in the greatest of states, but he made it through alive. Frankie’s kids meanwhile had a mom and dad. Along with grandparents who cared about their up bringing. Even if their mom had some problems with booze and their Father was away all the time because…
Tommy swore loudly kicking the already broken chair. Tommy was the main reason Frankie was away a lot. He pushed him to be on the road more, because Tommy didn’t want to go home and wanted to stay away; which meant that unless Frankie pushed for it he didn’t go home. This knowledge made Tommy even madder, he took another drag on his cigarette but that did nothing for him. It was, in a way, his fault.
”Not all of it was.” Tommy thought as he took another drag, Frankie didn’t push to go home often, because his home life after he got famous was, breaking, for lack of a better word. Mary had been bitter about Frankie wanting to sing and was drinking a lot before their got a big break. Which always struck Tommy as, really fucking weird; wasn’t that the reason Mary wanted to date Frankie in the first place. Well it is a long road to the top and no one knows how long it is until you get there. Fact of the matter was Mary made Frankie nervous about going home.
Tommy looked over that the mess of newspaper on the ground, wondering how Frankie was doing. Just a year ago Frankie could tell people he had three daughters. Now he could only say he had one. That…he couldn’t even fully comprehend how that felt. He wondered if maybe today should be the day he give his own kids a ring. If they heard the news maybe they would be more inclined to answer.
”Nah, Tommoch, ya just broke a fuckin’ chair. Now is not the time for a phone call to your kids ya haven’t seen in years.” He mumbled to himself, putting out the cigarette which was basically gone now, only to light another. He glanced over at where he kept his own booze, and then shook his head. “No DeVito that would just be adding salt on to the wounds, besides I just got that table.” He took a long drag before exhaling.
At this moment Tommy wished he hadn’t totally destroyed that paper. Knowing when she died and where the funeral was going to be would have been helpful. He could at least send something, something to help comfort his friend and his family.
”Yeah right, he ain’t ya friend. He doesn’t think you are friends. Don’t bother Tommy.” Tommy mumbled to himself. He took another drag, and started pacing again. He looked around his hotel room, something to get his mind off this. After another walk around the couch he realized there was nothing. Nothing that took take away how awful he was feeling.
He walked over to the kitchen and opened up a drawer. I was filled with letters he ha written to Frankie but had never sent. Letters where he said was sorry, letters where he got mad, letters where he said things that Frankie could see. It shouldn’t be this hard; he used to talk to Frankie all the time.
He stared down at the letters and sighed, “Yeah but never about the important shit.” He shut the drawer and opened another one. It was his old phone book, with all of his Jersey numbers. Most of the numbers were out of date. Things really had changed. He flipped through the book before putting it away.
Tommy started pacing again, stomping louder than before. He hated this indecisiveness he was having. He should do something. Something to help the family, help Frankie, hell maybe even help himself get to a better place. He put out his cigarette again in the ash tray. He sat down in the other, not broken, chair that he had, tapping his foot thinking.
”What would Frankie want me to do?” Tommy wondered. He sighed, thinking hard. If he was in Frankie’s shoes what would he want. And then it hit him. He probably would want to spend time with his family. A child was just lost, a child he couldn’t talk to ever again.
Tommy stood up, looking at over at his phone. Maybe, this was a sign. Maybe he should make a change. Maybe that would help, he sighed. He walked over to his booze cabinet; this required some form of liquid courage even if small. He opened up a bottle, nothing too heavy and took a swig. Hopefully that would help. Tommy walked over picked up his phone, dialing in a number he had memorized long ago. Home, he had called home.
He was relieved when it was the voicemail. He held his breath until the final beep indicated it was time to leave a message. He let out the breath he was holding, “Kids, listen it’s your dad. Listen I know I don’t call. I ain’t ever been the best at that crap. But hey, if you need to talk to me, I’m here. My number is 702-555-7631. If you need me, I’ll be here.” He paused; wondering if he should say it, was he ready to say it? But then he glanced over at the shredded paper and figured life was short. “Love ya both, talk to you whenever, bye.”
With that he set down his phone and started drinking more of his booze. He did. He had managed to gather enough courage to call home. Something he hadn’t done since he was sent to Vegas. It was strange, considering how smashed he had gotten his first week here, you would think he would have called home earlier than this point. Maybe it was just the shock of this tragedy that suddenly calling home didn’t seem like a hard thing to do. He looked down in surprise; he had finished his booze. Tommy sighed, holding the empty bottle loosely in his hand. Staring at the floor, feeling strange, but he felt better. “Well it is a start at least. Maybe one day things will be better.” Tommy muttered, glancing at his empty bottle. He felt as empty as it did.